


D.I.E

by TK_DuVeraun



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon Spoilers, Blue Lions Spoilers, Gen, Rating-Consistent Gore, aaaaaaaangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 10:50:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20563070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_DuVeraun/pseuds/TK_DuVeraun
Summary: Like an audience member at an opera, he could do nothing as his mouth said, “I will drown all of Fódlan with her blood.”





	D.I.E

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, yo! This was written with platonic ideation in mind, but hey, it's fandom, have fun. If you picture this as pre-relationship, go for it.
> 
> Title from [D.I.E by The Amity Affliction](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SdPQ42mI-j8).
> 
> If you like my work, you can check me out on [tumblr](https://tk-duveraun.tumblr.com/)

It wasn’t blacking out. Not quite. Dimitri could never bring himself to rebuke Felix for calling him the boar prince when he’d seen his body take control away from his brain and crush a soldier’s skull in his bare hand. 

The bareness was the horror of it, really. Even precious, gentle Annette had split a skull or two with a weapon. Axes did it best: the wedge-shaped blade would sunder the sides with a crack like chopping wood. Not quite like wood, though, not with the blood and viscera that sprayed down the front of the killer’s armor.

They were all murders, the students at the Officer’s Academy. Lady Rhea ensured that everyone enrolled got blood on their hands that she personally cleaned with absolution as the head of the Church of Seiros.

…Maybe Edelgard had a point. Not that the thought could live in his mind for more than instant before it was eaten by the beast in his blood.

Two years earlier, he’d asked Rodrigue if his own father, if the true king of Faerghus, was ever consumed by his Crest. He hadn’t answered, not really. He pretended to misunderstand. He said that His Majesty had indeed had the same problem with breaking weapons and then changed the subject to a trading deal his uncle was sending to Sreng.

Felix approached him. Felix with blood on his armor three days out from the invasion of Garreg Mach Monastery. Felix approached him and stood at his right shoulder. 

For the first time, Glenn’s ghost disappeared from his face. Sharp, stoic, too clever and too skilled by half, Felix had made himself into a copy of his brother even as he screamed that he was his own man. But in the aftermath of the invasion, he wasn’t Glenn. Anger would have painted Glenn’s face, not the pure loathing on Felix’s.

“Don’t think this excuses your bestial nature.” Felix jerked his head to the side to dislodge a stray lock of hair, but it was plastered to his cheek in blood.

“Help me, Felix. Make it stop,” are things he doesn’t say. Instead the hellpit in the bottom of his stomach grunts, “I’ll have her head.”

Felix knocked him to the ground with a single, uncontested strike. Dimitri stayed on the ground, mud mixing with the blood in his hair. Glenn’s face appeared again, staring down at the floor in the training grounds in Fhirdiad, but then the loathing on Felix’s face turned to disdain and he was himself again.

“She couldn’t have done it. We were children. Children,” he couldn’t say, no matter how much he worked his jaw. He saw the fire, felt the wounds again, relived the Tragedy of Duscur. Like an audience member at an opera, he could do nothing as his mouth said, “I will drown all of Fódlan with her blood.”

“You’re pathetic.” Felix scoffed and turned his back. His weapon was a sword, not a lance. Glenn had been shorter than his fellows at the Officers’ Academy and didn’t train with swords much. He was embarrassed about his short reach, he’d confided to Dimitri. Felix scoffed a second time. “You’re going to get yourself killed, boar.”

“I don’t want to die. I don’t want to kill. Make them stop, Felix. I can’t survive this begging. They want vengeance.” The disconnected part of his mind was a thirteen year old boy with his arms wrapped around his knees, sobbing. “Good,” his voice says, “We can all die to take her head.”

Felix turned his head, like he wanted to look over his shoulder, like he wanted to say something else. He didn’t.

Not that he had to. They had been best friends. Still were, if only because they couldn’t call anyone else friend. Dimitri knew what Felix was thinking. It didn’t make sense. Not quite. Not exactly. It still hit Dimitri like a blow to his solar plexus.

“Then you’ll die like a true knight.”


End file.
